I woke up because of a drop on my nose, then another, another and another. Probably as many another's as the gateways from one dream to the next. And the dreams I have are numerous, each being one miniscule speck in one mouldy black blotch of sleep. Not even a decent-sized blotch mind you. Nobody around here sleeps enough.
Were it this time last year, I would have been up talking. Probably to a beautiful tofu-coloured girl with lesbian tendencies. To avoid nerdism I might have been out for a drink, because only deadbeats would flout the golden rule of being out on a Saturday night. Little was I to know that my future girlfriend would be one such deadbeat-- Saturday evening for her means Meiji chocolate, a graphic novel and a Bloc Party CD she got for $8 at Timbrelux. That last one is really the clincher, only some halfwit would choose 60% savings by shopping at a flea market instead of HMV. I mean, really! Not shop at His Master's Voice?! If you don't shop at this dog-exploiting enterprise, you will never build any cred as a bonafide ripped-off consumer.
But it is not 'this time last year'. I am in this year, I am in a mysterious dripping. It is like the sky took a violent midnight piss. But slowly, slowly, the amoeba-shaped puddles of muddy water become clear again, slimming into drops and thinning into sharp lines. With impeccable geometry and grace they migrate swiftly up, tinier by the second. I barely have time to recall an image of migrating birds, trapeze artistes, before I am startled to realize I am blinking in reverse. It is perplexing to pass immediately from total awareness to total slumber. Tick tock tick tock. One black dot to another black dot.
Then nothing but cells of undisturbed dream.
Were it this time last year, I would have been up talking. Probably to a beautiful tofu-coloured girl with lesbian tendencies. To avoid nerdism I might have been out for a drink, because only deadbeats would flout the golden rule of being out on a Saturday night. Little was I to know that my future girlfriend would be one such deadbeat-- Saturday evening for her means Meiji chocolate, a graphic novel and a Bloc Party CD she got for $8 at Timbrelux. That last one is really the clincher, only some halfwit would choose 60% savings by shopping at a flea market instead of HMV. I mean, really! Not shop at His Master's Voice?! If you don't shop at this dog-exploiting enterprise, you will never build any cred as a bonafide ripped-off consumer.
But it is not 'this time last year'. I am in this year, I am in a mysterious dripping. It is like the sky took a violent midnight piss. But slowly, slowly, the amoeba-shaped puddles of muddy water become clear again, slimming into drops and thinning into sharp lines. With impeccable geometry and grace they migrate swiftly up, tinier by the second. I barely have time to recall an image of migrating birds, trapeze artistes, before I am startled to realize I am blinking in reverse. It is perplexing to pass immediately from total awareness to total slumber. Tick tock tick tock. One black dot to another black dot.
Then nothing but cells of undisturbed dream.
comically indifferent @ 2:16 AM